


Silver brooch

by Sheriarty



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard and elves are my favorite thing, I am surprised this pairing exists not only in my head, Lindir deals with it though, M/M, bard is confused by elves, but who isn't, he is oblivious though because he is a bit thicc about these things, i love him so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24091078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheriarty/pseuds/Sheriarty
Summary: Elves were a strange folk - that was for sure.Bard’s business naturally led to at least a more or less frequent exchange with a few of these creatures and it never ceased to surprise him how very /not/ human they were.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Lindir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Silver brooch

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, just a little something I wrote ages ago, but never uploaded, because I didn't know how to end it. I hope there is someone out there a) still reading Hobbit Fanfiction and b) being into weird pairings that make no canon sense. Like I do. :D  
> Have fun and tell me what you think!

Elves were a strange folk - that was for sure.

Bard’s business naturally led to at least a more or less frequent exchange with a few of these creatures and it never ceased to surprise him how very /not/ human they were.

Creatures, yes – Bard would never make the mistake of thinking them anything remotely close to men kin. They were not and surely they felt the same way about it.

He knew the prince, Legolas Greenleaf (whenever they met and he called him by his full name, he looked a little too stiff and the guards around him a little too amused, so, Bard made sure to always call him by his full name).

Sometimes his scouts or patrols (or whatever they called their ragtag group of elves jumping through the trees) passed him by the river and while being as unearthly agile and soundless as always, at least Legolas always gave him a greeting. He was a nice guy, Bard liked him, even if he often looked like he had something bitter to chew on.

He was nothing compared to his father.

If Legolas and his group of scouts seemed inhuman already, his father made sure to appear as unreal as possible. Bard had the secret suspicion that Thranduil just liked to mess with him (or humans in general). Wearing those ridiculous layers of robes as if he had just wrapped himself into the nearest curtains he had found on the way, sitting on his throne with his funny crown of flowers and looking down at him as if watching a mildly interesting bug.

And how he managed to walk backwards with those robes was beyond Bard, but it was impressing – a little ridiculous, but impressing.

If you had to compare King Thranduil to an animal, Bard would say he resembled a cat (he would never say that out loud in case he would get his eyes scratched out) – but Bard found himself reminded of one whenever he was called upon by the king, which was not that often. A big cat – watching you watching it and twitching its bushy tail. When you stretched out your hand, it would either start purring happily or jump your face to bite off your nose. You just could not tell.

Well, for a cat, the King had a nice biting sense of humor. Bard enjoyed it whenever he had the rare chance to see it.

The red haired Captain of the guard was another strange figure – she would often be in Legolas’ company, looking around with sharp eyes, most of the time completely ignoring Bard while he was working. Sometimes she would tell him to look out for spiders.

Once she had been sitting on his boat, almost shocking the soul out of his chest, because of course he had not heard her. She had looked so very smug about it, Bard had been about to scold her like he would his children, before remembering that the she-elf was probably five times as old as he was.

Elves were always a topic in Laketown. The awe of being in the presence of such creatures had been long lost on him, but he guessed for someone not regularly having to deal with their shenanigans, elves posed quite an impressive sight.

He heard fishermen like to gossip about having seen elf-ladies by the treelines in fluttering dresses (or even better no dresses at all) waving them over for some ‘fun’. Bard kept his thoughts to himself about the matter, imagining the Captain of the guards waving with her arsenal of weapons and her deadly smirk – definitely a sight, but probably not the one the fishermen talked about.

Women talking about elves luring their husbands away and elven men enchanting poor virgin souls to follow them into the woods. It was all very imaginative. Even the King had looked vaguely amused when Bard had asked about all those poor virgin ladies in their dungeons once.

All in all - Bard had no idea what drove these creatures, what went through and around their minds and he had long given up trying to figure it out. You could not predict an elf and even less understand it.

But when you dealt every once in a while with them, Bard figured, you just accepted that they were not like you – which did not automatically make them some ethereal phenomenon – at least not in Bard’s opinion.

* * *

He had been a Bargemen for four summers when something unusual happened.

First of all – he was late, because of Tilly having caught a nasty cough and hacking through the night with Bard and Sigrid trying to keep the fever down. Sigrid, his angel, had been able to take over in the morning with Bain, leaving Bard to run down the dock to get his boat going. It was an uncomfortable wet and windy day with rain plastering down on him relentlessly. What a great start.

The most unusual thing this day, though, was the occurrence of Elves.

Which would not be that unusual in general, but this time it was. The Moon’s day patrol of Prince Legolas was later than normal, they were on horseback and which was more unusual - they were not alone. A group of elves in different robes and armours on brown mares was riding along the river and next to Legolas a dark haired elf rode, listening to the prince talking.

Bard wasn’t that curious, though - he cared more about getting the damn barrels onto his boat, before catching his death. It was an unusual sight, yes, but when were elves never not unusual?

At first it looked like they would just ignore him and ride past while he stood knee high in the river, getting wet both ways, from the sky and the ground. The rain had lessened to that awful level, where it was nothing more than fog like fine water spray on the skin, seeping into the clothes nevertheless and leaving you bone cold and wet.

“Good evening, Bargeman.”

Bard blinked, in the middle of pulling on a barrel and turned his head to the group of elves. If he was honest, he had not expected a greeting – even less from what seemed to be one of the visitors, going after the different kind of clothing and appearance. The group had come to a halt by the riverside, watching Bard watching them.

For an elf, he looked old, was the first thing Bard thought, before bowing his head somewhat. “Greetings, my Lord,” He replied, catching Legolas’ expression, not really knowing what to do with it. The Lord seemed satisfied enough though, his dark eyes flickering to the countless barrels still floating vaguely around Bard and up to the sky. “Bad weather, isn’t it.”

Now, Bard hadn’t been aware that elves were _that_ bad at small talk. And why it would be needed for him was beyond Bard as well. So he just hummed, blinking through the spray of rain and giving a short nod, before turning back to pulling on the barrel.

“Say, Bargemen, is someone waiting for you back at home?”

Even for elven standards this was getting new levels of odd. Maybe the elves from other Realms were even stranger. He looked up once more, studying the figure a little. He was wearing copper colored armour and a sword hung by his hip, bow and quiver there as well. A handful more armored elves of the same kind in tow – some with normal robes as well. The Mirkwood Elves looked just like always, besides being on horses.

“… Three children, yes,” Bard answered somewhat late – he saw no benefit in lying or denying information. Like he had already stated – elves were just strange and sometimes it was best to just go along with whatever was going on in their silly old heads.

The elf lord that had spoken to him (Bard figured he was the leader or something close to it with that shiny thing sitting on his brows and the way the rest of the group kept looking up to him) nodded thoughtfully, before unclasping his cloak and the belt with the sword, as well as shrugging off the bow and quiver. Bard threw Legolas a silent questioning look, who just looked bemused (as far as Bard could tell with his face).

Everything was thrust onto the elf next to the Lord, who tried to grasp it with confused eyes, managing to let the arrows fall out of the quiver and looking several levels of distressed about it, while the Lord dismounted his mare and began to walk towards Bard. He smiled when reaching him, clasping his shoulder in a firm, but not unkind way, before walking past him through the water and towards the barrels.

Bard only watched silently when a handful of elves began to dismount as well, putting their weapons and gloves off and making a beeline towards where their leader was starting to do… Bard’s job.

Bard blinked, frowned, threw first Legolas and then the group of elves easily bearing the barrels a look, before lifting his brows to his hairline, because – Elves. They really never ceased to surprise him.

He decided that elves of other Realms were even stranger, before joining them again in taking care of the barrels.

* * *

“… Well, thank you for the help”.

  
In the end it had taken them only a couple of minutes what would have taken Bard more than an hour. He found himself standing by the group, who was putting on coats and weapons again, none of them really sparing him any looks besides the lord, who appeared, if Bard was to judge, rather smug. Or as if amused about something, while the one he had thrust all his things to was fretting around him, helping him into his coat and gloves again.

Bard threw the elf in the purple tunic and the flashy red coat a look.

His face was distressed, as if his Lord had done something truly embarrassing and he was constantly losing the arrows out of the quiver, bowing down to retrieve them, just to almost lose another item from his arms.

Bard found himself crouching down to pick up a silvery brooch that had fallen into the mud while the elf helped his lord into his red cloak.

“You lost something,” He commented just as the servant (Bard figured him to be that at least) got back around. The elf looked up when addressed, as if noticing Bard for the first time. Big brown eyes flickered down to the brooch, up to his face again and then uncertainly to the tall elf he had been re-dressing just now.

The Lord lifted his brows, the amusement in his eyes never ending. “Well, Lindir?”

The servant seemed stricken before flashing Bard another look that seemed a little too impassive, expression unmoving. He wasn't even breathing, Bard suspected. Was this what rabbits did when faced with a hound?

“… Thank you,” He answered, voice quiet and silky, but making no move to take the brooch back.  
  
Elves.

Bard, lifting a brow, waited a beat longer, before shrugging to himself and taking half a step towards the other and pinning the brooch back to his collar, “There”.

He turned to the leader once more and thanked him again for his help, before leaving the group to themselves. He had three children to get home to and the sooner he was out of the rain, the better.

* * *

If he would have told Magar about being crowned king of Dale, she would have probably declared him mad, laughing in his face.

Hell, he still caught himself thinking this was all just some strange dream.

Sadly, it was too real to be one. With far too many lost lives in what was now called ‘the battle of the five armies’ (Bard had no clue who those five armies were, he only remembered having to fight orcs until his arms would not lift his sword anymore).

Why the people of Laketown suddenly wanted to put a crown onto his head was beyond Bard as well. He had the sneaking suspicion they just wanted someone to complain to and about in all the official ways. People were like that.

Bilbo, brave little hobbit lad, had given them his 14th share of treasure in exchange for that shiny rock the dwarves were so agog of getting their tiny, greedy hands back on. It was the greatest help they could have imagined. Bard would have probably cried in gratitude and relief, if not for the fact that he had been too exhausted from the battle and too much in awe about that little, selfless creature that had looked so lost and sad, still smiling as he easily gave them all his fortune. _For Dale and Lake-town to be rebuild._ Bard had never seen such a fascinating, brave creature and he would never, ever in his life call a hobbit anything half ever again. For him, Bilbo Baggins was a true hero in this awful story.

Bard had given Thranduil his share as well, offering him the green emeralds of his for-father. It must have been sufficient enough for the elf king, even going as far as to call him ‘King Bard’ when he bit his goodbye, promising to send supplies as soon as his own people had been taken care of. Bard couldn’t ask for more, the king’s eyes grey and old and so tired that Bard had felt as if it had been the first time he had really seen how old this creature truly was and how much grief his soul had endured already.

It made him wonder, among all these figures, what he looked like to others.

Certainly not like a king.

Bard did not care if he was wearing a crown or not, the debris and rubble, the destroyed walls and dead orcs wouldn’t just disappear on their own, so the first ‘order’ he gave, after taking care of their own deaths, was to clean the city. Everyone who was able to lift a stone, had to help and he was one of them.

“… Bard?”

The bargeman turned to look over his shoulder, hands still holding up a heavy piece of something that had once been a roof, while a few hands were pulling out the dead bodies from under it. The young lad that had addressed him, seemed to hesitate and Bard frowned expectantly, “What is it?” he asked, a little strained from where he was trying to keep the piece from falling back to the ground with two other men.

“There… are some elves? They... they want to speak to you.”

“Thranduil’s elves?”

The boy shook his head frantically, “No. Others.”

Bard’s frown deepened, before huffing out, “Gimme a moment.”

Other elves? What where elves doing here still? Thranduil had left with his people and their lost ones days ago.

* * *

As it turned out those were, indeed, other elves. Bard raised a confused brow at the sight of four elves clad in long dark robes standing stiffly in the large church hall.

“You wanted to speak to me?” Bard did not waste time with greetings – really, they had a city to clean up for /winter/, for God’s sake. The elves all turned around in union (did they practice that before?), three of them looking several levels of annoyed or surprised, as far as Bard could decipher. The one in the middle just cocked his head a little. “King Bard,” He greeted him, stepping forward. His companions threw him sideway glances, before eyeing Bard again, now with impassive expressions.

“Aye, I guess so?” Bard replied, still uncomfortable about the title. The dark haired elf took another step closer, eyes narrowing just slightly, but not in a scrutinizing manner. “We came here on behalf of Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Imladris, the last homely house,” the elf paused, as if expecting some kind of reaction, so Bard gave a small grunt to acknowledge he had listened.

The elf blinked at him, before continuing, “He offers supplies and help for your people.”

That did turn Bards attention around and he straightened a little. Supplies? From unknown elves?

“… And what does your Lord expect in return?” he could not help asking. The pale elf before him drew his shoulders back slightly, eyebrows twitching, as if Bard had just insulted him – maybe he had, elves were so touchy sometimes.

“We are hoping to form a bond with you and your people in times of peace and times of need… Our people walked this earth already when men and elves still lived in friendship… You will see that it would be beneficial for your kingdom to accept our Lord’s noble offer-“

Ah, he had probably sounded suspicious. That was why the pretty elf was sounding so stiff now. Bard hurriedly smothered his face into a smile and lifted his hands in an apologetic manner.  
“Of course. Forgive me for asking, but it is not every day that strangers come to visit to just generously hand out supplies and ask for nothing but a handshake in return,” He explained with a small shrug.

He looked up to the other elves staring at him unnervingly, before turning his attention back to the one speaking.

  
That one blinked at him slowly, before nodding briefly, “That is understandable. I would ask for a list of needed supplies within two days, so we can return it to Imladris as soon as possible. Winter is not waiting for none of us.”

Bard nodded slowly, “…I will write everything down that comes to my mind.”

  
(Seriously, Bard had no idea what they would need – or even, what they could ask of those strange people. He had heard the name Elrond before, but just as all those high elves, it was just a vague name for a vague figure living far away from them.)

The elf looked up to him with something that could maybe even be sympathy, before lowering his head a little. The three elves behind him did the same and then turned on their heels to walk out.

The elf Bard had spoken to remained, looking at him again. Bards eyes flickered to his companions leaving and back to the elf, eyebrows twitching in confusion.

“My Lord wished to inform you of a… more delicate matter as well. For that I would suggest a more private environment,” The elf than revealed to Bard in a neutral tone, titling his head just slightly, a few of his dark hairs gliding from behind his ear into his face. Something about it rang a bell in Bard’s mind, but he could not pinpoint what exactly.

“Can it wait until nightfall?” Bard asked, because really, he did not have time for playing mysterious messengers with elves now – there was still the matter of the city needing cleaning up and all the hands they had were needed.

That visibly threw the elf off, straightening up and frowning gently.

“It is just that as long as we have daylight, I like to keep working”.

“Working?” the elf repeated in confusion.

“Aye. Cleaning the city. With a battle happening and all that. You know,” He elaborated, with a vague gesture around them. The dark haired elf still looked slightly puzzled, but nodded after a moment, his eyes never leaving Bard’s face, which was a bit unnerving.

“… Alright. I’ll go back to work then. You… can wait in the towns hall, if you want.” because Bard had no clue where else to leave that strange figure for now. There was a throne hall somewhere, but Bard knew that half of it had fallen to pieces.

He only noticed the elf had followed him outside, when he looked over his shoulder, cursing under his breath and nearly stumbling over his own feet then. The sole reason he did not land on his face was the elf quickly grabbing the back of his coat, keeping him upright. Bard blinked, taking a step back and turning to the dark haired, who let go again and looked up innocently.

  
“I-the... towns hall is to the south-“, he tried to explain, pointing into the opposite direction, but the elf just stared impassively at his face. “I am at your service. Where do you wish me to help?” he replied smoothly instead.

Bard stared at him. “What?” he responded dumbly, taking another step back when the elf slid closer.

“Elves are enduring and I am stronger than your men. Where do you need me?”

* * *

As it turned out, that elf was indeed a resourceful help, being able to lift, hold and carry things three times too heavy for any normal person. Bard still had no idea what was happening, but he decided not to ask about it.

Elves. Never ceased to surprise him.

* * *

“So… that did kind of surprised me,” Bard admitted later that night, when they had gone up the stairs in one of the smaller rooms of the town’s hall – most of the people had gathered in the giant hall for the night, fires to warm themselves and blankets to share. Courtesy of Thranduil, as well as the tents and the rest of food and drink.

Anyone who said Thranduil was a heartless creature would get punched in the nose by Bard.

Why ever his people had given Bard and his family the upper rooms was beyond him.

His people… what a strange thought.

He turned from where he had briefly looked out of the window, only to suck in a small breath, because really, did elves know no sense of personal space?

The elf just looked at him, as he seemed to have a habit of doing. The staring maybe meant he wanted Bard to elaborate, so the bargeman wrung his hands in a vague gesture, “I did not know you people… I did not expect you to help,” He finished lamely, which seemed to disappoint, because he was rewarded with a small scowl.

“We are offering supplies for your folk to survive the winter-“ the elf started stiffly and Bard quickly interrupted, “No, that’s not what I meant- It is only… the physical labor-“, he really did not know how to explain that he had expected them to be too arrogant to be bothered to help dig through dirt and debris, making themselves dirty for humans – without it sounding like a prejudiced insult.

The elf only continued to gaze up to him expectantly, so Bard helplessly changed the topic, “What was your name again?” because he was pretty sure he hadn’t told him.

That made the elf straighten up, looking at him long enough for it to become uncomfortable. Something in the dark eyes told Bard he should not have asked that, but he had no idea why, because wasn’t it normal to ask after someone’s name?

“Lindir,” The elf then spoke quietly, as if it was a secret of some sorts and Bard hummed, “Alright. Lindir. Nice to meet you, by the way. And thank you for your help”.

He would have loved to ask the elf to stop staring at him like that, but that would have probably been rude, so he didn’t. It was not necessarily because Bard had a problem with being looked at, but something about it made him hot under the collar.

“… So, what did your Lord want to inform me about?”

* * *

Bard had only heard legends about Sauron – and mind you, those had been the kind of stories you told little kids so they would come home before nightfall and stay in bed after dark. To hear that this… this creature was back? Bard had no clue what to think about that.

As it seemed Lindir did not know either, for he offered no words of reassurance – or advice that was, besides telling him that he should keep it to himself until further notice to not let his people break into a panic. The rest of Lindir’s people had ventured to the lonely mountain to inform the dwarves there as well and as it turned out they had already visited Mirkwood, too. Lord Elrond, as it seemed, was otherwise occupied – what exactly, Lindir would not address.

The next two days passed in the same manner as those before – the city had to be cleaned still (lucky most of the corpses had been burned or buried by now). But debris, destroyed buildings and walls did not just vanish overnight and everyone was still reeling from the battle, exhaustion, fear and grievances slowing each and every one of them.

Lindir proved to be a much greater help than (Bard had to admit) expected – he seemed to know how to best and most logical start with getting rid of the debris, seemingly having some sort of sixth sense where it was safe to work on the unsteady construction. He was also good at telling Bard what to tell his people for most efficient work progress, letting it seem as if Bard was the one doing all the thinking here. The elf showed the most fit of the residents of Dale how to make easy and double purchase pulleys out of the meager items they had, how to use the few hoofed animals they had for helping carrying rubble and stones. He soothed spooked horses into obedience with a few mumbled words. He helped repairing carts and barrows and went about handing out what he called ‘Lembas’ to the people. Bard saw his purple and red outfit flash up everywhere in the city, fretting about.

It was then that he remembered that incident more than a year ago at the River. The elf caravan on horseback and the strange Lord helping him with the barrels. And his servant with the silver brooch.

* * *

“Did you collect the list for supplies?”

Bard looked up from where he was munching on a hard piece of bread, having starred into the flames. It was boon to sit close to the small fire the elf had somehow managed to get going in one of the room’s fireplaces without much more than a few wet wood logs.

A moment without constantly being swarmed by people complaining. Bard would take what he could.

“… The list. Right.”

  
Bard cursed inwardly, having completely forsaken that matter while helping with taking care of the city’s clearing. Not that he would have known what to write down, either.  
He should ask Sigrid maybe. She and Tilda were helping the women in the church with the wounded. Bain had been helping all day long by his side and had probably fallen asleep the moment Bard had sent him to one of the makeshift tents.

He bit his brittle lips, looking at his hands and playing with the hard piece of bread he had gotten from Hilda.  
What did they need? He had no idea. _God, he had no idea._ He had no idea what he was _doing_. What was he supposed to do? _He had no idea_ -

A pair of hands appeared in his line of vision and Bard blinked a little when the bread was taken out of his cramped fingers by unfairly soft hands, just to be replaced with a rectangle of Lembas. The fingers stayed on his dirty hands a moment longer than necessary. He looked up again to the elf that was crouched by his side now, back to that habit of watching him.

“I can write a list. I counted the approximate number of the people here today. I will put together what you might need for the winter to survive and how to ration it to get everyone through. I will write down how much we can offer from that for free and I can set up a plan for supplies you will be able to purchase from elsewhere, Erebor, Mirkwood, the like.”

Bard stared long enough for it to be more than inappropriate. Or maybe the elf thought him constipated when he didn’t react for a solid six seconds, just looking at him.  
“I remember you,” was what Bards tongue decided to formulate, not knowing how to put into words what else he was feeling. It seemed to throw Lindir off enough for him to be the one blinking back silently now.  
“You were the elf from that rainy day… Prince Legolas was with you. You helped me with the barrels.”

Lindir’s face stayed impassive first, continuing to look up with his big, brown eyes. His pale lips had parted just a bit though, not exactly gaping, but it was some sort of surprise – at least Bard imagined it to be. It prompted him into continuing: “I picked up your brooch. The silver one, right?” Bard nodded to the brooch in question still on Lindir’s collar. “One like that.”

“It’s the same,” Lindir spoke after a beat of silence and Bards eyes flickered back to his face, taken aback by the small awed smile on the elf’s pale face. “It’s the same brooch. I kept it.”

  
Something about the way Lindir looked at him told Bard that this was significant. Sadly though, Bard had no idea what significance that might be.

* * *

Bard lay awake that night, staring up to the ceiling and straining to listen to the other creature in the chambers with him, but Lindir was as silent as a mouse at the other end of the room on his little cot. Of course he didn’t snore or sigh or talk in his sleep, Bard thought to himself, he was an elf, mumbling in their sleep was probably beneath them. He hoped he wouldn’t snore once he fell asleep.

* * *

The elf, Lindir, stayed the next days, which was probably more of a help than anyone but Bard really knew. The dark haired elf told him how to best ration the food they still had, knew how to clean the city the most efficient way and helped, with Sigrid and Hilda’s input, putting together the supply list he would take with him back to his Lord. And, apparently, he would accompany Bard to the dwarves, too. Bard hadn’t even been aware that they were planning on going there, but apparently they were.

To form new alliances, Lindir explained patiently and while Bard was rather unwilling, personally, to speak with this stubborn, war-loving creatures ever again, he supposed the elf was right. For the greater good of Dale and Lake-town, a renewed bond with Erebor was mandatory and would, in the long run, only be beneficial.

(It didn’t hinder Bard from being, while polite, not exactly overly nice to them in their meeting. He was glad to have Lindir by his side in this – the elf seemed to know exactly how to draft a contract with greedy, selfish and all over all stubborn creatures.)

* * *

“Thank you. For coming with me, today,” Bard told Lindir later, when they were making their way back to Dale on two horses that Bard had already thought lost their minds to the horrors of wars, but turned out to be fine after a few mumbled words of the elf. Lindir looked over to him and then smiled, a few strands of his hair falling into his face again, just like it had that first rainy day they had met. Bard, on impulse, moved his horse closer and reached out to put it back behind his pointed ear, which earned him another long stare, one of those Lindir seemed to have plenty in his pockets for him.

He didn’t know how long the elf planned on staying – because when Bard asked him about bringing the list to his Lord, Lindir had told him he had given it to Erestor – who apparently was one of the other elves of the group Lindir had arrived with – and said group was already on it’s way back to Imladris.

* * *

Winter came and went. Lindir stayed. Bard wouldn’t complain. If he was honest - oh Lord, he was goddamn grateful – even if confused – for the elf staying with him, helping tremendously in all kinds of affairs, be it directly in the city itself or with trades or contracts or general help for his new role as… king.

 _King_! Him! He still couldn’t believe it and apparently didn’t act it, either, if Lindir was to believe.

* * *

“You have to read through this, Bard,” Lindir, standing by the side of the River, held out the scroll for the fifth time, while Bard helped towing in the load from the boat alongside his comrades.

  
“Your elf friend is fretting again, huh,” Percy snickered as he stepped next to Bard, shouldering him a little, “Come on, let me. You go do your reading.”  
Bard wanted to complain, because he could _work_ , but gave up with a sigh, letting Percy push him away. Wading through the spring cold knee high water, Bard joined Lindir by the shore then, looking up to him with what he knew had to be an up-giving expression.

Lindir just stared, until Bard gave up and nodded for the elf to lead the way.

* * *

“Don’t look at me like that…” Bard grumbled, feeling the eyes burn in the side of his head, as they both sat by the table, Bard mulling over the document.

Of course Lindir did not stop, but Bard saw him shift a little out of the corners of his eyes and he turned his head, catching the elf furrowing his delicate brows at him, as if Bard was being some kind of mystery, when it was the elf who was just one giant, confusing puzzle in Bard’s opinion.

“You want to work,” Lindir stated quietly, still staring at him and Bard (grateful for every opportunity to get a break from reading through contracts and other legal stuff), straightened up a little, turning to him.

“Of course, I want to work. I have two healthy legs to walk and two strong arms to carry my weight,” he replied a little incredulously. Lindir’s eyes flickered to what Bard assumed were his arms and then his legs, before looking up to him again, eyes a little wider. Or Bard was imagining things.

“You’re a king now. You led your people into war and won in the battle of the five armies. Your cunning strategy earned you a fourteenth of the dwarves’ treasure-“

“That was Bilbo!” Bard protested, because ‘ _cunning strategy_ ’?

“You killed Smaug, one of the great fire snakes of the North. You /are/ the heir of the throne, child of Girion-“

“Lindir, where are you going with this?” Bard asked, confused and a little startled at the passion in the elf’s voice. Well, passion for Lindir’s standard, the guy didn’t even blink when something exploded two feet next to him. The only time he showed emotion was when he was fretting about Bard's garments.

The elf in question now stared intensely at Bard, nostrils flaring a little, as if Bard was frustrating him.

  
“You could be sitting in your throne hall, you could enjoy yourself, get yourself some consultants to do the reading-“ Lindir stopped there, frowning at him, as if accusing Bard of not doing it, while Bard just stared back, wondering where the elf was going with this.

“Instead you… you work. You go out, dig in the dirt, go hauling barrels, eat your bread and drink your luke warm watered beer-“

“Hey, now come, it’s not that watered-“

“And read all your contracts, all the trades, go to every meeting, you don’t even wear your crown-“

“That blasted thing is annoying and heavy- and anyway, _you_ tell me to read everything!”

“Yes, because it is my place to order around a king,” Lindir actually scoffed back at that, and both of them seemed caught-off guard, looking at each other, before Bard let out a startled laugh directly into Lindir’s face, who blinked. His expression thawed then, a smile fighting its way onto his features, as he folded his hands in his lap, shaking his head a little.

“Hey, there, look at that,” Bard smiled, leaning forward to push Lindir’s chin up with his thumb and forefinger. “A _smile_. Suits you”.

The elf’s eyes flickered up to him, doing that staring thing again, with his long lashes and dark eyes that he always did and Bard, for once, wished he understood what went on in the silly old heads of elves.

* * *

“I don’t- this is.. Nothing in this makes sense!”

Bard knew he was probably being dramatic, when he groaned and just let his upper body collapse over the desk, but no one besides Lindir was witness to this childish outburst, so he allowed himself some tragedy for a moment.

“Let me…” the elf’s voice sounded by his side as if on cue and a part of Bard was ashamed that he had hoped Lindir would show mercy and take over the accounting of the summer harvest and their trading with Erebor and Mirkwood. But a bigger part of Bard was just grateful and knew that the elf could do this complicated math stuff better than him.

Bard prided himself on not being completely dumb, but he had never received much of an education besides learning to write and read (which was already more than many could say), so this advanced mathematical stuff was just confusing him.

He felt Lindir tugging at the scroll Bard was still dramatically lying on but Bard ignored it, wondering how anyone could have ever been so dumb as to crown someone like him. How was he supposed to be a good leader if he couldn’t even do math?

“Bard..” Lindir tugged again, before nudging Bard’s head with one finger, which had the king sigh.

“I cannot help you with this if you-,“ Lindir sighed, but then stopped himself. Even the elf had to be out of patience, Bard thought, but when he felt the finger resting against his head being joined by the rest of the hand, starting to slowly stroke over his hair instead, that train of thoughts stopped.

“You are too hard on yourself, Bard of Laketown”.

Lindir’s hand was soothing, knowing exactly how to comb through his hair or stroke over it in turns.

“You’re too lenient with me, Lindir of Rivendell,” Bard muttered, low-spirited from where he tugged his arms under his head then to rest his chin on them, keeping his eyes closed though and – daresay – enjoying the petting a little, even if it made him feel even more unsuitable in his role as a leader and king. What king cried over documents on his desks and needed an elf to comfort him?

“I am not. You are a kind and just leader. You know right from wrong, you do not abuse your power. These are qualities of a good leader. Math, geography, cartography – these are subjects you can learn or find someone else to help you with.”

“Someone like you?” Bard questioned quietly, turning his head just enough to be able to squint up to the elf, who looked down to him.

“I haven’t minded helping you ever since I came to stay here, have I?”

“You probably have to stay much longer, though,” Bard muttered, a little self-deprecating, but when Lindir countered with a: “I don’t mind”, Bard actually turned his head more to look up to the elf.

“You might have to stay forever,” Bard said after a pause in which they looked at each other, feeling the hand in his hair stop for a second, before picking up their movement again.

“I don’t mind,” Lindir repeated, but his voice was quieter this time, softer, while Bard gazed up to him silently, working through what just happened.

“Huh,” was all he could offer, feeling the pleased surprise warming him from the inside. “Well, if that’s the case...,” he trailed off amused and happy, turning his head a little more until he could press his lips chastely to Lindir’s wrist, smiling against the soft skin when he felt the fingers twitch in his hair and then take up their gentle movement again.

His eyes fell onto the silver brooch under Lindir's chin again and he decided, closing his eyes, that, maybe, with some help, he would be able to do this after all.

Elves. Never ceased to amaze him.

* * *


End file.
